A Cresting Wave
by Riddl3MeThis
Summary: Part 1 of my story that chronicles the lives of past Victors. Starts with Annie Cresta. From her first glimpse of the arena, to watching the man she loved go into the Games for a second time, here are a collection of important events in her life.
1. Prologue

As I'm waiting there, underneath the ground with my stylist Arianelle, I'm only thinking of one thing.

In less than five minutes, I will be going into the 70th Hunger Games.

"Annie?" Arianelle's voice finds its way to my ears. I turn my head slightly towards her to let her know that I'm listening, but I don't open my mouth. I'm afraid that if I do open it, I'll turn into a sobbing, shaking wreck of a person, and that can _not_ happen now. "It's, uhm, it's time," her voice sounds hoarse, and I make note of the tears in her eyes.

_Huh_.

I hadn't known that she liked me. Arianelle had been a good enough stylist, coming up with beautiful costumes (this year District 4 was under-the-sea creatures, wearing shiny blue and green outfits with fins on the back) and talking some strategy with my District partner, Kellan, and I, but she'd always seemed indifferent towards me. Almost as if it didn't matter to her that I was going to die in a few days.

Probably, it didn't matter to her. But still, it was nice to see that I did matter somewhat to her.

My blood runs cold as I realize what she's said, but I try not to let my fear show. Instead, I nod once and try to make my way over to the small circular platform that will lift me up into the Games, but Arianelle stops me. For a moment she just stands there with her hands on my shoulders, peering at me eyes. Then, she leans in and hugs me tightly. "You're going to do great!" she tries, and fails quite miserably, to sound happy and optimistic. I nod again, and continue on to the platform.

I want to say something to her. Something to let her know how much I appreciate the costumes and advice and the fact that she cares that I'm about to die, but I just can't get the words to come out. Thankfully, Arianelle seems to understand, and she waves goodbye to me as the platform raises.


	2. The Bloodbath Part One

The first thing I do when my platform stops is look around to see who's close to me. You see, since I'm from District 4, I technically had an alliance before I even arrived at the Capitol. Almost every Games, the tributes for Districts 1, 2, and 4 team up in the beginning and take out the weaker competition. When I was younger, I used to wonder what the allied tributes did if they didn't like one another. This year, my question was finally answered.

I liked the male tribute from 2, Snipes, and the female tribute from 1, Dawn, well enough, but the girl from 2, Kitson, had talked happily of 'carving the other tributes up' at lunch the other day. As for the boy from District 1, Glade, well, it would be putting it nicely to say that I hated him. Glade was arrogant, strong, cutthroat, and full of himself. On the first day he asked Kellan and I if everyone in our District smelled as fishy as we did, even though we had been scrubbed to the bone by our prep team, and there was no way possible that we smelled of anything other than soap.

He forced the tributes from 8, Magda and Jonas, to fetch lunch for all of us everyday, at the promise that they would be allowed into our Alliance. Once they would leave our table, he would laugh and say that he was 'really looking forward to offing those two'.

The feeling between us had been mutual ever since day one of training when he missed the knife-throwing-station's dummy with a spear while I easily punctured it with a tiny switch-blade.

Still, Glade was a member of my alliance, so no matter how much we loathed one another, we had other enemies to worry about (or, as they would say back home, we had 'bigger fish to fry').

The first alliance member I spotted was Kitson. She was about four tributes to my right in the circle we were gathered it, and she was eyeing the center of the circle hungrily. I followed her gaze to the Cornucopia.

Wow.

It looked even more magnificent in person.

Ominous, gleaming, over 20 feet tall and filled to the brim with crates. It's a safe bet that the crates are filled with food, water, and weapons.

I return to scanning the circle of tributes. The Cornucopia must be blocking a few, because I can't find Snipes or Glade, but Kellan is standing across from me to the left and Dawn is a few tributes down from Kitson. Dawn catches my eye and nods, and I groan inwardly.

We're staying and fighting.

It's expected for the 1, 2, & 4 alliance to stay and fight through the bloodbath, but this year the six of us had talked about letting the others kill each other off at the Cornucopia while we killed off the weak ones who ran away. Personally, I wasn't too thrilled about the idea of killing anyone, but killing the weaklings that run away would be much, much safer than fighting in the bloodbath. There's no guarantee in those that, even if you're in the alliance, you'll live through it.

Having found my allies, I steal myself for battle. I barely have time to come up with a quick plan--run fast, smash crates, slit throats--when the cannon signaling the end of the minute goes off. Before I'm even conscious of what I'm doing, my legs have taken me halfway to the giant gold horn. I see that most of the other tributes have followed and I quicken my pace, trying to remember what my mentors said about the bloodbath.

Riley Mastrone and Finnick Odair were the District 4 mentors this year (Riley was my own personal mentor, while Finnick worked with Kellan, but they both gave us general advice). Riley was tough, hardened by the Games she'd won twelve years ago. Finnick was a mystery. Since I'd been reaped, all of my free time had been soaked up by Riley and Finnick, and I still wasn't sure whether or not to trust him. He was one of the youngest players to ever win the Games, so I couldn't take his advice lightly, but everything he said was followed by his trademark smirk. I could never tell if he was serious or not. Plus, my best friend back home, Feela, was in love with him and had pictures of him papering the walls of her shabby bedroom, so meeting him had been sort of surreal for me.

Riley had told me to have no hesitations about killing at the bloodbath, because the other tributes would sooner kill me than thank me. Finnick had told me to get my hands on a trident (and smirked), something impossible to every tribute in the history of the Games except him.

I'm still thinking of tridents when I reach the Cornucopia. The third tribute to arrive, I decide to climb up on top of the other crates to get to the ones on top. This will give me a better vantage point, and will delay the other tributes at the Cornucopia (now four other tributes, none of my alliance members, are trying to smash open the crates while ignoring one another) from trying to kill me.

The crates are almost six feet tall and two or three feet wide, and are stacked in a pyramid fashion, four in a row at the bottom, then three, then two, with an assortment of smaller crates on top. The design should make it more or less the same as climbing a giant set of stairs. Easy. With a running leap, I manage to get half of my body on top of one of the crates closest to the ground, get myself standing on it, grab onto the top of the next crate, and haul myself up on top of that one.

Suddenly I'm thankful for the hours we were forced to spend lifting weights and learning how to throw knives and spears back in District 4, because without them, there's no way I'd be able to pull all of my weight up and over a five and a half foot tall crate.

Now other tributes have arrived at the Cornucopia, and I can hear sounds of struggle. One boy (the male from District 10, Sander) follows my lead and begins to climb up the crates. His muscles are more developed then mine, and he catches up to me in no time. I hurry to pull myself on top of the final crate, but he grabs onto my leg. Almost subconsciously, I tighten my grip on the top crate, and swing my other leg to kick him in the stomach. He instinctively curves his body in, towards my foot, in an attempt to stop the blow.

Obviously, this boy hasn't had any training in hand-to-hand combat.

This contortion of his body has left him off-balance, and I release my grip on the top crate to deliver a swift punch to his chest. He drops my leg and swings his arms wildly in an attempt to catch his balance, but it's far too late. It's only a ten-or-so foot drop, and though it doesn't kill him, his left arm is left sticking out at an odd angle.

Redirecting my attention from Sander to the other tributes on the ground, I see that someone has opened two of the bottom crates. Inside are an assortment of knives.

Now the bloodbath has truly begun.

The first person I see is Kitson. She's fighting fiercely against a girl whose face I can't see. It seems that while the other girl has a machete, Kitson is fighting with her bare hands. I barely have time to wonder what the hell Kitson is thinking, when a whizzing sound alerts me to impending danger. Instinctively, I duck, and a knife lodges itself into the crate behind me. I glance around and locate the female tribute from 7, Aley, leering up at me. Anger floods my mind, and adrenaline takes over.

I quickly pull myself on top of the final crate, grab the nearest small crate that lies on top, and smash it open with my foot. It's a medical kit. Helpful in the future, maybe, but now? Not so much. I have to keep myself alive right now before worrying about dying from injuries later. I grab another and smash it open. It's a fleece jacket. Nice for cold nights, but again, I need to keep alive until nighttime before it's of any use to me.

Desperation begins to set in as I smash open a few more crates to find blankets and pots. Was it a mistake to come up to the top? Right now, I'm thinking yes. Not only have I stranded myself without weapons, but I've made myself an easy target. All of the tributes on the ground that currently aren't fighting are aiming at me. Luckily, the only ones I'd be truly worried about hitting from a distance are all on my side (at least for now), but still, the shear number of people aiming at me could be my end.

I easily dodge a few wayward knives and a truly lost arrow, but as more tributes begin to notice me, they also join in. I count five gathered around the base before a spear nearly hits my forehead. I manage to jerk my head back, and the spear ends up lodged in the ground, rather than in my skull, but it's obvious now that I need some help. I crouch down low on the crates in an attempt to make myself less of a target, but an arrow still manages to find a way to stick itself into the wood directly in front of me.

A gasp sneaks out of my lips, and I feel my breathing speed up and become more ragged.

_Oh no. Oh no, no, no. I can't die. I can't. Not here. Not now._

An entirely new type of adrenaline floods my mind. This type is tinged with pure, cold terror. I grab onto the arrow and manage to yank it out of the wood. Making sure not to lean out to far, I peek my head over the edge of the crate and locate the nearest person aiming at me. The boy from District 12, Aden, I think his name was, has a few spears gathered in his hands, and is taking his time positioning one of them towards me. Without waiting another second, I draw my arm that holds the arrow in it back and throw it as hard as I can directly at Aden's head. I don't wait to see if the arrow meets it's mark before pulling my head back, but someone spots me anyway.

I hear the whizzing too late this time, and the knife buries itself deep in my left shoulder. A loud cry of pain breaks through my mouth, and my hand grabs the knife. Riley told me that when (not if) I get hit with anything sharp, that I should yank it out immediately. That way, the pain won't have any time to lessen, and it won't seem as agonizing when I pull it out. It still hurts worse than anything I've ever felt in my life.

The skin around the knife is already throbbing seconds after the attack, and the slightest touch on the handle increases it tenfold. Gritting my teeth, I yank it out before I can change my mind. Another yelp finds its way out of my mind as I smack my hand over the wound. Riley's next instructions were to put pressure on the gash.

Before I can even roll over, a searing pain shoots through my left foot. I glance down to find another knife stuck in the side of it.

Tears spill out of my eyes, though not because of the pain (because this knife has barely nicked my foot, compared to the one that hit my shoulder), but because I've realized that maybe this is the end for me.

Isn't it what I expected? Hadn't I been telling myself for days now that I'd be dead before the first day was over? Still, it's one thing to say something, and another entirely to mean it.

As somewhat of a last-ditch effort, I manage to grab another crate with my spare hand. I pick it up and smash it hard into the crate below me. A loud hissing noise comes out of the crate, and as I peer into it in an attempt to get a better look, something yellow shoots out of it and knocks me off of the crates. Some part of my brain reacts to the sudden lack of anything solid beneath me and years of training kick in. I manage to roll myself into a tight ball before I hit the ground.

The impact of the ground slamming into my body after a fall of at least 15 feet knocks the wind out of me. My vision goes completely black, and my ears start to ring. It feels as if every bone in my body is vibrating, and the throbbing in my shoulder almost causes me to scream again.

I brace myself for the impact of the dozen-or-so knives that are about to hit my body, but they never come. Still, I remain motionless on the ground until my hearing has returned. The sounds of battle are still going on around me, but no one is attacking me.

Confused, I open an eye and peer around, only to find someone standing over me. My hands fly up to guard my face, as I'm sure this person was waiting for me to show that I was still alive, so they could kill me in some drawn-out and painful way.

Instead of something sharp entering my flesh, the sound of laughter enters my ears.


	3. The Bloodbath Part Two

**Phew! The end of the bloodbath in this chapter! I'll admit, it took me a LOT longer to write than I thought it would. I have a list of everyone who dies in the bloodbath that I'll post after this chapter to help you (well, mostly me) keep which tributes are alive and which are dead. Now, read on!**

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More confused than ever, I open my eyes to find Snipes smiling, his head turned somewhat away from me. "Open your eyes and get your butt off the ground!" he calls, still grinning that wild grin of his. "We have work to do, and honestly, I can't defend you by myself for much longer. Your fan club is regrouping," he nods his head towards the right, and I glance in that direction.

A group of four, most likely the group who was trying to kill me on top of the crates, is standing about forty yards to the right, near a large gathering of pine trees. Snipes grabs my arm and yanks me roughly to my feet. Black spots start to appear in front of my eyes, and my head suddenly feels too heavy to hold up.

"A knife got my shoulder and another got my foot. I think I've lost some blood," I inform Snipes, who's currently watching a fight taking place a short distance away from us between Dawn, Glade, and a hulking boy from District 6 named Olverson.

He sighs, and tears his gaze away from the fight for a moment. "Take this," he says gruffly, shoving the spear, that until now I hadn't realized he was holding, into my empty hands, "I need you to be my eyes and ears for a minute, okay?"

The question is rhetorical, but I find my mouth moving to form the words '_no, not okay_' anyway. I can barely keep myself from falling over, so how am I supposed to defend the both of us? A sharp pain in my shoulder makes me forget my worries momentarily. "What are you doing?" I hiss furiously at him. In response, he rips a large portion of fabric off of his jacket, and then an equally large portion off the back of my T-shirt. "What are you doing?!" I repeat more frantically; the jolt of pain seems to have restored my senses back to (somewhat) full working capacity.

"Eyes on the field!" Snipes snaps, but I can hear the ever-present smile in his voice. My shoulder is stinging and throbbing at the same time, and it's starting to cloud my thoughts. I glance around the field to see if anyone's coming near us, but most people seem to have forgotten about us and the crates and are focussing on their separate fights. I glance over to the trees where my 'fan club' had been watching us, only to find that they've mysteriously disappeared.

Pushing past the pain and whatever Snipes is doing to my poor arm, I scan the field diligently for them. My eyes fly over tributes locked in combat and tributes dying on the ground, but none of them are the ones I'm looking for. The group of four included the girl from District 12, Kaydee, and she's not one of the ones I see.

"I think my fan club's split," I tell Snipes, trying to sound amused. Unfortunately, he chooses _that_ moment to squeeze my shoulder and my voice cracks on fan. "Mmmm. Hold still," is all he says in reply, and the pressure increases.

"Ow!" I yelp, but Snipes ignores me and holds something up to the wound. "Take off your jacket," he sounds so authoritative that I do it without asking why. He then takes the strip of his jacket that he ripped off and ties it all the way around my shoulder, almost like a strap on a backpack. My shoulder is skinny enough that he can wrap it around twice before he ties it tightly, the knot resting directly above the puncture. I let out a low hiss, but actually the pain's not too bad. It's still throbbing, yes, but now I can at least think around it and the stinging is mostly gone.

Next, Snipes bends to check out my foot. The knife must have fallen out at some point, but it still stings. Snipes prods at it a bit and decides to leave it as is.

"Come on, give me back my spear and we'll get you a weapon," Snipes says, sounding satisfied. I turn to him, feeling an immense amount of gratitude for him. He could have just let me die, even though we were supposed to be allies. If it had been me in his place, and Glade in mine, I would have thrown the alliance out the door and let the other tributes kill him.

"Thanks, Snipes, for fixing me up and all," I say softly as I follow him to the open crates. Snipes smiles, "No problem, Annie. Now, hurry up and choose your weapon,"

I see the weapons I want almost immediately; two long, silver swords that are at least two feet long. I figure that they're as close as I'm ever going to get to a trident.

Snatching them up, I try to shoot Snipes a smile. "Okay, let's go," He looks over at me and runs towards the nearest fight, which happens to be the one involving Glade and Dawn. Meanwhile, I search the field for Kellan, hoping against hope that he isn't one of the tributes lying on the ground, soaked in blood.

Luckily, I don't have to search for long, and I spot his flaming-red hair about fifty yards away, fighting two tributes, a boy from 9, Mercer, and a girl from 5, Hyacinth. It seems to be two-on-one. I think I'll go even out the odds. Sprinting as fast as I can, I'm upon them before they realize what's hit them. Mercer seems to be doing the most damage to Kellan, with his giant wooden bat-club thing, so I charge him with one of my swords, tucking the other sheath onto my belt.

Unfortunately, he sees me coming. His bat is up to block my sword before I'm even sure where I'm going to swing it, and my sword almost bounces off it.

_Okayyyy_.

Maybe it's not a _wooden_ bat-club thing, but a metal one?

I don't have any time to wonder which, though, because the next thing I know the bat is being swung towards me. I drop to my knees and jab at his legs. My sword barely punctures his shin, and he leaps back, swinging the bat harder. I stay low and half-crawl, half-stumble out of the way. Mercer isn't going to let me get away that easily, though, and he advances, a smirk on his face. Suddenly, a plan begins to form in my head. A slow one and a stupid one, but a plan, nonetheless.

I pretend to fumble with my second sword as Mercer swings his bat straight at my ribs. Moving back slowly, I allow the bat to collide with my right leg. The pain is instantaneous, and I whimper. However, no crack has followed the original thump of the bat hitting my leg, and I prove nothing is broken by gingerly putting all my weight on it. It aches, yes, but more of a deep-bruise ache than a broken-bone ache. Just as I thought, Mercer, though strong, has never handled a weapon before in his life.

This should be easy enough.

Now that he thinks he's fast enough to hit me, Mercer's gaining confidence. He swings the bat with more intensity and speed then before, but his aim gets steadily worse as we go on. I'm as close as I've been to having fun since I've entered the arena, as I dance around him. However, we can't dace forever, and Mercer seems to be connecting the dots as I pull out my second sword and prepare to swing at him.

It turns out that while his aiming is abysmal, Mercer's not half-bad at deflecting with that bat of his, and it takes me five swings with my right sword (my shoulder injury is making it hard to swing with my left) to land a hit on him. My sword sinks into his side and Mercer lets out a bellow. Quickly, I retract the sword and make use of his distracted state to swing at his neck.

I feel a thump as my sword connects with his neck. A strangled gurgling sound comes out of his mouth as his body slumps over. My sword cut almost all the way through his neck.

Mercer is dead.

Another rush of adrenaline flows through me, but this time it's accompanied by a rush of nausea. Mercer's blood is pooling out from underneath his body, and I leap back before it can touch my foot.

"Eugh," I close my eyes for a second before I realize where I am. My eyes snap open and I look around the field. Kellan is standing over Hyacinth's lifeless body, shaking his hands. Glade, Dawn, and Snipes are going through the rest of the crates. Kitson, on the other hand, is still locked in a seemingly deadly knife fight with the girl from District 7, Aley, that tried to kill me when I was on top of the crates.

_Huh_.

I thought she'd run away with the other members of my fan club. Kitson must've caught her and initiated the fight before she could escape with the others.

Anger flares up inside me as I remember Aley leering up at me at the start of this, and before I know it, I'm sprinting at her. My swords are still sheathed, so when I reach her, the only thing I can do is jump at her. Luckily this is the last thing she's expecting, and despite the fifty-or-so pounds she has on me I manage to knock her over. Unfortunately, once I've done this I realize that I have no backup plan, and Aley rolls on top of me. The leer has returned to her face as she slams her hand down over my throat.

"Say goodbye, fishy!" she giggles, and insane glint in her eye. I try to push her off, but she's too heavy. The black spots are just starting to cloud my vision when Aley lets out an "oomph!" sound. Without warning, her grip on my throat loosens, and she collapses on top of me.

I suck in a giant breath and manage to roll her off of me with what little strength I have left. Panting, I kneel on the ground until I look up to see Kitson standing next to me. She nets her fingers into my hair and yanks me to my feet. The knife in her hands is covered in blood, and I make the connection that she must've just killed Aley. No sooner have I thought of this, and Kitson has her knife to my throat.

"Wha-huh?" I manage to sputter. Aren't we supposed to be allies? Kitson looks furious, "Next time I'm in the middle of a fight, let it be!" she spits out, her voice shaking with rage. "I can handle myself! Clear?"

My body is seized with terror, and I barely manage to shake my head yes. Kitson releases my hair and pushes me away from her a bit. "That was a nice tackle," she admits, grudgingly. I stand there awkwardly for a minute before saying, "Thanks. And thanks for taking her out,"

"Don't mention it," she smiles happily, probably remembering the kill, "But next time, don't run at someone who's 6 foot 1, 180 pounds, and armed when you're 5'7'', and maybe pushing 120,"

I laugh half-heartedly. Kitson went from trying to kill me to joking around with me in about five seconds, flat. It was a bit unnerving.

"Hey! Get over here!" Glade's voice interrupts our chatter, and we glance over at him. He's waving at us from the crates, and he looks pissed.

But then again, Glade always looks pissed, so I don't worry about it.


	4. Death Toll After The Bloodbath

DISTRIC-BOY and GIRL (**bold**=died in bloodbath; underlined=in the Career alliance)

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1- Glade and Dawn

2-Snipes and Kitson

3-**Breach****-killed by Bandle** and **Calcenna****-stabbed by Glade for making the mistake of throwing a knife at him.**

4-Kellan and Annie

5- Benny and **Hyacinth-strangled by Kellan.**

6-**Olverson-killed by Dawn in the 4-way battle against her, Glade, and Snipes.** and **Galina-****killed (with a machete) by Kitson in the fight Annie spotted.**

7-Michale and **Aley-killed by Kitson with the help of Annie.**

8-Jonas and Magda

9-**Mercer-decapitated by Annie.** and Janine

10-**Sander-died when he was attacked by Glade after Annie pushed him off of the crates.** and **Celly-had her throat slit by Glade.**

11-Bandle and **Maple-speared by Snipes for trying to kill Annie.**

12-**Aden-killed by Annie when she threw an arrow at him.** and Kaydee

_*_

Kills List After Bloodbath

GLADE-------------ANNIE-------------KITSON------------SNIPES--------------DAWN-------------KELLAN--------------BANDLE

_*Calcenna-------*Mercer------------*Galina-----------*Maple-------------*Olverson-----------*Hyacinth------------*Breach_

_*Sander---------*Aden--------------*Aley_

_*Celly_


	5. Justified Murder

**A bit of a pointless chapter in my opinion, but I had to establish what happened directly after the initial bloodbath (which took sooooooooo much longer to write than I planned!). Hunting and a bit of a gruesome death in the next chapter, so just stick it out through this boring one**.

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"What's up?" Kitson asks when we reach them. Dawn is putting the items into separate piles based on whether they're food, clothes, or weapons. Snipes is unloading everything out of the crates. Glade appears to be watching them and giving orders. The scowl on his face looks deadly as he turns his gaze to us. "Go collect weapons from the dead bodies. And hurry, they'll be collecting them soon."

I'm a bit annoyed at the fact that he's bossing us around, but I don't say anything. We _do_ need to get the weapons one way or another, and I don't have any objections to be the one doing it.

Kitson nods and turns to me, "I'll take left half, you take right half,"

I nod back at her even though I have no idea which side she's considering left, and which she's considering right. My question is answered when she runs to the area directly behind the cornucopia. I guess that leaves everything in front for me.

The first body I go to is one that's lying face-down a few feet away from the crates. I flip the person over to check for weapons, but the only thing I find is an arrow embedded in their stomach. My eyes widen as I look to the face of the person and realize it's Aden, the boy from District 12 that I threw an arrow at. _This is my arrow. I killed Aden_.

I suck in a breath and pull out the arrow. In an attempt to distract myself, I run to the next body, Aley, and remove the knife from her back. But my mind continues to run wild.

_I killed Aden. I killed Mercer. I killed two people within my first hour in the arena! I'm a murderer!_

"I'm a murderer." I admit it to Aley, even though she can't hear me, can't hear anything anymore. Can't ever see, hear, feel, smell, or think anything. Ever again.

Shakily, I get to my feet and stumble towards the next body.

It's a girl. District 10. Her name was Celly. There's a ten-inch blade clutched in her hand.

As I stoop to pull it out of her grasp, the nausea inside me finally bubbles over and I vomit onto her body. Disgusted at myself, I snatch up the blade and move on. Tears are streaming down my face by the time I reach the last body, a boy from District 3, Breach. I pull the spiked boomerang out of his skull and slowly walk back towards the crates, not even bothering to wipe my face off.

"Here," I drop the weapons at Glade's feet and sit down on the ground. He just scowls at me.

"How many bodies?" he questions. I have to think for a minute,

"Seven."

Kitson comes back and adds her own small collection of weapons to my pile. "I counted four. That freak Calcenna, that hulk from 6, the girl from 11, and that one good looking blonde guy,"

"Olverson, Maple, and Sander" I correct her listlessly. When I look up, I see that both she and Glade are looking at me weird. "What?" I snap.

Kitson opens her mouth to say something, but then shakes her head and stays silent. "You know all their names?" Glade asks, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes," I say, a bit defensively, "There's only 22 tributes who's names I didn't already know when I got here. It's not all that hard to remember 22 names,"

Glade shrugs, "If you say so,"

"She always did have a knack for memorizing things," a familiar voice teases, and I look around Glade's back to find Kellan. "How would you know?" I challenge, "You're a year behind me in school,"

Kellan shrugs and smiles at me. "Can I get some help here?" Dawn's voice snaps.

I get to my feet, ready to help her sort through the crates, only to find her and Snipes with a medical kit kneeling over Jonas...who's drenched in blood. Suddenly I'm more confused than I've been all day. Why are they helping Jonas? As far as I knew, Glade wanted him and Magda dead before the end of day one. So why are Snipes and Dawn trying to save him?

"Kitson, get me a cloth from that pile over there," Dawn orders, "Annie, get me a long, sturdy stick!"

I glance around wildly for a 'long, sturdy stick'. I decide my best bet is going to be over by the group of bushes to my right, so I head there. Once I reach them, I pause for a minute to survey the arena. Since the minute my platform surfaced in the arena, I had spent the whole time looking at the other tributes. I'd never once paused to take in the scenery. In my defense, though, I'd been sort of preoccupied.

The circle we're in is surrounded by trees. From evergreens, like the ones we have back home, to weird looking trees that remind me of giant bushes, we're completely surrounded by greenery. Behind the trees directly across from me, I can just make out a mountain.

"HURRY UP!" Dawn's shout is so loud it sounds like she's next to me. I start and turn towards the bushes, searching for a stick. I come up with one that's far too big, and a bunch of small twigs. When it becomes clear that those are the only sticks I'm going to find, I decide to break the large one in half. I snap it with my foot, and return to the Cornucopia with both halves.

"Great. Thanks. Now why don't you go stand over there and look around while I try to save a life!" Dawn snaps at me. "I thought I saw something moving," I lie so that she's not angry with me. I have to get as many people in this alliance on my side as possible, otherwise they'll pick me off first when we kill off the other tributes. Dawn sighs, grabs one of the halves I've brought back, and sets it against Jonas's leg. She snatches the fabric out of Kitson's hands and uses it to tie the stick in place.

"Did he break his leg?" I ask, trying to figure out what Dawn's doing. She shoots me a withering look that seems to suggest that I'm the stupidest creature in the world. "Yeah," Snipes answers. Snipes is looking a bit worse for the ware, his face oddly pale, dark bags under his eyes. I walk over and sit down by Jonas. His tan skin is shiny with sweat, and he's biting the sleeve of the fleece jacket I found on top of the crates. I wince at the sight of his face, scrunched in pain. I'm trying to figure out how to say something to comfort him, but before I can Glade interrupts me.

"What the hell is this?" Glade snaps. He's so far back in the Cornucopia that I have to walk into it to see what he's talking about. He's holding a rope that's connected to a giant rubber raft. He looks so confused that I laugh.

"It's an inflatable raft,"

The look of confusion remains on his face.

"Say you're out at sea, and your boat hits some rocks. When it sinks, you can take your inflatable raft and ride on it,"

Glade stares at it for a minute, "It's kinda big. How would you fit it on a boat?"

I smile. The answer to this very question had alluded me for many years, until my dad had explained it to me at age eight. "The people at the Capitol know how to fold them up into little squares with strings attached to them. Pull the string, and the raft inflates..." Comprehension begins to dawn on me. The inflatable raft must've been in that little crate I smashed open. When I'd smashed it open, there'd been a hiss and then I'd been thrown off of the crates. I must've accidently pulled the string when I opened it, and it must've knocked me off while it was inflating.

Glade is not impressed.

"That's quite possibly the dumbest thing anyone's ever invented," he says, examining the raft from all possible directions, "It's just going to waste space."

I shrug, "It could come in handy, later. We don't know what's beyond the forests. There could be a lake or something." Somehow I doubt that, but years of living in District 4 have taught me that it's never a bad thing to have a life raft with you.

"You really want to lug this giant thing all the way through that forest _just_ to see if a lake is there?" he asks skeptically and I see his point. "Okay, well what do you suggest we do with it, then?"

In response to my question, Glade walks over to one of crates and picks up a knife. I realize what he's going to do a split second before he does it, but it's too late to stop him. A deafening _POP_ resonates throughout the Cornucopia and I instinctively smack my hands over my ears. "Little warning, next time?" I snap.

He just smiles and begins to pick up the pieces of plastic.

"What was that?!" Kellan shouts from where he waits outside the Cornucopia. "Nothing," Glade calls back coolly, and I stare at him.

"Yes?" he asks.

"Nothing," I shake my head and walk out of the Cornucopia.


	6. The Hunt

**A PM that someone sent me made me realize that I should probably explain the story arc a bit better. I will be writing a series of stories about previous victors of the Hunger Games (so if you have one that you particularly like, drop me a PM). Annie is my first, and I've already started on two others (but I won't start posting them until I finish this one). Annie's story starts (obviously) while she's waiting to go into the Games. As the Games are what essentially caused her to go insane, they are going to be a very large chunk of her story. Now, the person that Pmed me also asked how long I could make these Games last, since I've already killed off almost half of the tributes. I'm planning to have the Games last for about a week and a half (maybe more), and make up about half of this story. The other half is going to be explaining the relationship between Annie and Finnick.**

**Ok, now enjoy this chapter! It's longer than the others and, just a warning, has a pretty nasty death in it. Take caution!**

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Dawn is still sitting by Jonas, but he looks a bit better and she seems to just be keeping watch over him. Snipes, Kitson, and Kellan are sorting through the food together.

"One of us should be guarding," I point out, with a bit of an edge to my voice. "The bloodbath just ended," Kitson points out, "There are seven of us here, and not too many other people out there. No one's going to attack."

"Still--" I start, but a loud _BOOM_ cuts me off. The cannons. Now that the Gamemakers have discovered that Jonas isn't going to die from his injuries, they're going to let us know the final death count._ BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._ Two, three, four._BOOM. BOOM. BOOM._ _BOOM_. Five, six, seven, eight. _BOOM. BOOM._ Nine, ten. _BOOM._ Eleven. I wait for more, but they don't come. Eleven dead on the first day.

Snipes whistles lowly, "Almost half." I nod, slowly, trying to take it all in. Out of the eleven, I killed two. I wonder how many everyone else killed. I know Kellan killed Hyacinth and Kitson killed Aley, but I'm not sure about any of the others.

"How's your shoulder?" Snipes asks, looking up towards me. I shrug, "So-so. Still aches a bit."

Actually, it's aching a lot, but I didn't want to say anything. Not when Jonas was over there getting his bones set back into place and biting a coat sleeve to keep from screaming. My leg is also hurting a lot where Mercer hit it with that bat of his, and when I roll up my pant leg to see how it looks, I'm met with the disgusting sight of a large purple-black bruise roughly the size (but not the shape) of a plum. Snipes whistles again, "What is _that_?"

"That guy from 9 smashed a bat into my leg," I frown at the bruise. "Anything broken?" Dawn asks wearily, and I shake my head. "Nah. It doesn't even hurt that bad."

"Sorry to interrupt, but we all need to talk strategy," Glade says as he walks out of the Cornucopia. We all turn to look at him, even Jonas, who's face has turned slightly green. None of us have really talked strategy with the others. Even though we're in an alliance, that still doesn't stop us from realizing that we're going to have to kill each other eventually.

"I think since there are so many of us, we should split up. Four of us can go hunting while the other three can stay and guard all of the supplies. Obviously Jonas has to stay back, and I'd personally rather be with the hunting group, but what's everyone else's preference?"

"I'd like to hunt," Kitson says immediately, and Dawn calls out her agreement. Knowing I only have seconds to decide before the last hunting spot is taken, I weigh the pros and cons. If I stay at the Cornucopia, there's less of a chance that I'll see battle. However, if I stay at the Cornucopia I'm giving the other group, that currently contains two people who I don't trust at all, a free pass to decide on killing me sooner rather than later.

"I'll hunt, too." I practically shout. Though when I glance around, it becomes clear that neither Snipes nor Kellan particularly wanted to hunt.

"Super," Glade grins at the prospect of hunting with the three girls, "Grab a weapon, ladies, and we'll take off."

My swords are still sheathed and attached to my belt, so the only thing I grab is an empty water container and some Purifying drops in case we find a water source. Dawn packs a small backpack with enough bread and fruit to last us the entire day tomorrow, and Kitson stocks up on weapons. When we're all ready to go, Dawn and Glade head out without a word. Kitson nods at Kellan and waves to Snipes.

I decide to be the black sheep of the group, and stop to talk with Kellan and Snipes. "See you when I see you," I say, smiling. Snipes grins and nods, "Well put."

Kellan looks a little nervous for someone who's just going to be hanging back and waiting around. "Be careful, Annie," he leans in close so that Snipes can't hear, "I don't trust any of them."

I nod, because truthfully I don't either.

But then again, I don't trust anyone here, _including_ Kellan, so what can I do?

_*_

Hunting, for lack of a better term, sucks.

We've been following what Kitson assures us is a 'trail' (really it's just a few broke twigs here and there) for the past three hours. It's started to get dark about an hour ago, and it's a good thing that Glade was smart enough to bring matches or else we'd have been completely lost. Dawn managed to fashion a torch of sorts, so we can see a little bit.

"It would've been smart to see if there was a flashlight," Kitson grumbles.

"I did, and there wasn't," Dawn snaps back. The two of them have been getting into arguments over the smallest things; whether we should go right or left, who gets to hold the torch, who should have to carry the backpack, how long they should have to carry it for, and the list goes on.

Never had it crossed my mind that one day I'd be grateful for Glade. He seems to be quite good at diffusing these arguments and making light of them.

"Maybe it was in one of the crates we didn't open," Kitson shoots back. Dawn is visibly bristling, "Maybe you should just--"

"SHHH!" Glade cuts her off. For a moment I think he's just trying to end the argument, but then I notice that his whole body has stiffened. "You hear some--" I try to ask, but he just shushes me, too, and makes his way towards the nearest tree.

"Hand me the torch," he orders Kitson, and she passes it off without argument. He holds the light up and peers into the tree. A familiar whizzing sound meets my ears and I'm about to alert Glade to move when he does it himself.

Even so, the knife ends up landing at his feet. Glade merely laughs it off.

"Oh, come on, Magda. Is that really a way to greet old friends?"

_Ah_.

So Magda's in the tree. But then shouldn't she be on our side? Her District partner is, after all, though I can't figure out why we're eve allowing him to live.

"I always knew you were the more hmm...shall we say, ambitious one out of you and Jonas," Glade grins up at her, "I was going to keep him around just for sheer numbers, but if we manage to finish off you and two others tonight, I don't think those extra numbers will be required. Do you?"

I doubt that _that's_ why he's keeping Jonas around. Glade is a lot more conniving and tricky than that.

"Eat mud, Glade!" Magda shouts down, and Glade laughs.

"Oh, come down, Magda! We really need to be getting on with this, doll," his words are met with another whizzing sound, and another knife lands in the ground next to him. "Two can play at that game," he says softly.

"Actually, twenty-four can," the comment slips uninvited through my lips, and I blush as Glade's piercing glare hits me. "Sorry," I mumble, but Dawn laughs so I figure I'm okay.

Glade's attention is returned to Magda, and he picks up her knives. "Annie," he calls, beckoning me forward as he holds out the knives to me. "Let's see if we can teach our little friend in the tree up there some manners, huh?"

I stare at him for a moment. He wants _me_ to kill Magda? Okay, I'm a fair shot, I'll give him that, but not nearly fair enough to hit someone who's higher than I am and protected by branches.

Glade wants me to die.

It's actually pretty obvious. And now he has me trapped. If I say yes, then I'll be putting myself in a situation where I'll most likely be killed, but if I say no, I'll single myself out from the others as being a weakling. Then not only will the other tributes target me, but no sponsor will want me.

I examine the tree that Magda's in. It's big, at least fifty feet up, but I doubt that Magda's even halfway up. The knives she threw at Glade had too much power in them, as if they were thrown at a close range, rather than dropped from a great distance. There's a mess of branches that block any chance of a seeing where she is, unless I'm willing to get right underneath the tree.

Speaking as softly as I can, so that Magda won't hear me, I say, "I'm going to try and scale the tree next to her. Can you guys distract her so that she doesn't hear me?" This is a long shot. Even with the other three babbling away, there's still a chance that Magda is and will be able to see me clearly from wherever she's perched in the tree. Still, it's the best chance I have, so I'm not about to pass it up.

Dawn nods and turns towards the tree, "Oh, come on Magsey! I fixed Jonas up all nice just for you, and this is how you repay us?"

"Really, Magda," Kitson joins in, "I would've thought you were smart enough to no not to mess with us. How do you think we should kill her, Glade?"

Glade stretches his hands behind him and nods at me, letting me know to go on. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe cut those nasty hands off, first."

I tune out their taunting and creep over to the tree next to Magda's. The branches are about six feet up, but I'm tall enough to grab them and I pull myself up. Normally, climbing trees is not something I do for fun, but I've climbed a few in my lifetime so it's not too hard. The difficult part is trying to spot Magda's jet-black hair in the tree over. About twenty-five feet up, I spot her, clinging to a long branch about ten feet across from me.

Slowly, so as not to alert her to my presence, I begin to pull myself along a branch that stretches out almost all the way to Magda's tree. When I'm almost within reaching distance of Magda's hair, the branch creaks. Her head snaps to look over at me, and the knife is flying before she even meets my eyes. Instinct takes over, and I find myself hanging onto the branch with only my hands.

Magda lets out what can only be described as a snarl and sends two more knives flying in my direction. I swing forward and they both manage to miss me. At this point, Magda appears to have exhausted her weapon supply, so she decides to launch herself at me. The second her weight hits my branch, I hear a crack. With only seconds to react, I release the tree with one hand, snatch one of the knives out of my belt, and plunge it into her stomach.

She lets out a groan and slips sideways off the tree. I don't see her hit the forest floor, but I hear the crunching sound it makes and I wince. The branch I'm holding onto is about five seconds away from breaking, so I look wildly around for another to grab onto. There's one about ten feet below, and I brace myself to hit it. I hear the branch snap for the final time, and seconds later my stomach hits the branch.

For what feels like the hundreth time today I have the wind knocked out of me, but unlike the time when I fell of the crates, my vision and hearing remain intact. I struggle to lift my hands up and cling to the branch before I roll off. I can hear Kitson snickering below me, and I locate her face to glare at her. But then I realize, she's not laughing at me. She's laughing at Magda.

Magda is struggling to get to her feet. I'm surprised that for the most part she seems unharmed. Twenty feet is a fairly long way to fall and then stand up moments later. I'm shaking after just ten.

But Magda is resilient, and her hand immediately forms a fist which she aims towards Glade. He easily catches her hand and hold it fast. "Hey, Kitson," he calls, "Do you want to cut off her hands, or should I?"

My blood runs cold. They can't be serious. Their teasing and taunting was just that, right? Just joking meant to scare and distract Magda.

Apparently not. Dawn goes to hold Magda's shoulders back, a look of grim determination on her face, and Kitson raises her machete, a twisted smile on hers. "Say bye bye, Magsey!" she giggles gleefully. At this point, I would have abandoned any pretense of being brave and just begged them to kill me quickly. Magda isn't like that, though. She holds her head high and glares defiantly into Glade's eyes even as Kitson's machete gets closer and closer to her flesh.

The defiant act quickly evaporates, though, as Kitson begins to hack at her hand. Magda begins to scream at the first slice of the machete. For a moment, I'm confused as to why Magda's hand wasn't just cleanly sliced off in on blow of the sharp weapon, but then it dawns on me. Kitson is going to make this last as long as she can. By the time they start on her other hand, Magda's screaming and I'm trembling so hard that the entire tree seems to be shaking along with me.

It's awful and disgusting and horrible, and yet, I can't tear my eyes away. I watch every second of torture play across her face, hear every pain-ridden scream that leaves her mouth. I try to imagine what the pain must feel like by thinking of how it felt when the knife pierced my shoulder, but for the life of me I can't remember what it felt like.

Finally, they are finished. Magda's hands are gone and she's loosing blood so quickly it's almost as if water is pouring out of her.

"You gonna get out of that tree anytime soon?" Kitson calls up to me, the insane grin still on her face. I don't trust my voice to say anything without cracking, so I drop out of the tree in response. My knees absorb most of the impact, and a whoosh of breath is the only sign of pain that I allow to show.

"That was a rush," Kitson is babbling on, "Oh, her face, her face. Did you see her face, Annie? That was unreal! Completely unre--"

"Shut up!" I snap, and Kitson turns to stare at me. "All of Panem saw her face! You cut off her hands, now let's not relive it,"

Kitson opens her mouth to start an argument with me, but Dawn cuts her off. "Let's head back to the Cornucopia,"

Glade and Kitson both start to protest, but Dawn merely holds up a hand and waits for them to quiet. "It's nighttime. Magda makes twelve tributes dead within the first day. Seven of us are in an alliance, five are out there on their own. We'll have a clear advantage if someone chooses to attack us. Besides, I don't feel well, Glade you keep scratching your neck where that girl from 10 cut you, and Annie you couldn't even carry the backpack because your shoulder hurt so bad. We need to get back and relax for a bit, get some of our strength back. Then we can hunt again."

Kitson frowns, but Glade nods and stoops to finish off Magda. The girl groans when he lifts her head by her hair, and before I can even spot the knife in his hand, he's slit her throat.

"Why didn't you just do that in the first place?" I ask through gritted teeth. He turns to shoot me a death glare, "You should cut your hair, Anna banana. It's too long,"

I know what he's doing, and I'm not impressed. Over the past few days, whenever Glade was asked a question, he attempted to direct the attention onto someone else by bringing up a completely random topic. It's not the best method, but it usually works. This time, however, I'm furious and not about to let it drop. "No, seriously, Glade, there was no need to torture the poor girl first if you were just going to kill her!"

"Well what did you think I was going to do with her, huh? Make up a secret handshake and call her my best friend?" he snaps back.

"No, you're right," I reply sarcastically, "Secret handshakes are a bit difficult when you don't have any hands!"

Glade gets up off the forest floor and walks to stand practically nose to nose with me. Despite the fact that he has a long knife in his hands, he's rather unimpressive in height and stature, and I feel myself almost looking down at him.

"We had to give the Capitol a show now, didn't we?" that creepy smile that was previously resting on Kitson's face is now resting on his, "Sponsors like shows like this. You know that, Anna banana. With no sponsors, we'll run out of food. Then we might just have to eat you."

If this is a threat meant to scare me, it has seriously backfired. I draw myself up to my full height and glare at him, "Are you threatening me, Glade?" My voice is low and deadly.

He stares at me, grinning, for another moment, then he steps back. "No, Anna banana. Don't be silly. But seriously, you should cut your hair!"

I scowl and my hand flies up to my hair. I know he's just trying to get a rise out of me, but it bugs me when people tell me to cut my hair. It's as brown as chocolate, goes all the way down to my waist, and is pretty much the only thing about my appearance that I spend more than five seconds on in the morning.

"Come on," Dawn says, "Let's head back. It's likely that someone heard her screams, and we don't want to go from being the hunters to being the prey."

Kitson snorts at the suggestion that _she_ would ever be anyone's prey, but we head out all the same.


End file.
